Vorkosiverse Blurbs
by Thobbit
Summary: Random spewings of my brain, ranging from Ivan to Elena, Alys, and Simon post-CyroBurn to Helen Natalia, all grown up. SPOILERS! There's a character limit here, so the 'X to Y to Z' is the last three chapters published.  Please read, enjoy, and review!
1. One and the Same

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, not even all of the dialogue :(_

**One and the Same**

_Ghem_-General Dag Benin bowed deeply from the waist as he entered the semi-private study of Emperor the _haut_ Fletchir Giaja. The room was dark, with drawn velvet curtains and only one lit lamp. The few pieces of antique furniture, a simple set of desk, chair and lamp, were sharply contrasted by the newest model of the famed Mela-brand comconsole, though all were extremely elegant.

After the required two seconds of a _ghem_-general in the Imperial Service to his Imperial Master, Benin straightened up and announced, "Milord, I have just come from the interrogation chambers, where I personally conducted the interview of Ms. Cavilo, formerly of the mercenary fleet Randall's Rangers. Some . . . interesting new information was gained, unanticipated, and I though it best to report directly to you."

The Emperor turned to face Benin and nodded to show he was listening. "She was captured three days ago, on Kline Station, correct?"

"Yes, sir," replied the _ghem_-general. "Cavilo has finally confirmed our hypothesis about the famed Admiral Naismith."

"You mean . . ." The Emperor's face betrayed no surprise, only a slight amount of curiosity.

"Indeed, milord," Benin confirmed. "There is only one clone, Lord Mark Pierre Vorkosigan. Lord Miles Naismith Vorkosigan of Barrayar and Admiral Miles Naismith of the Dendarii Mercenaries are one and the same."

"This is indeed interesting, _Ghem_-General," mused the Emperor. "So

Lieutenant Taborappears to have been mistaken when he swore after the Earth debacle that they were separate men."

"I believe that Vorkosigan convinced his clone—" began Benin, but his Emperor cut him off with a wave of the hand.

"The Barrayaran Emperor's wedding is coming up, is it not? To the Toscane heiress?"

"Yes, sir," said Benin, confused by the sudden change in subject. He strongly suspected that His Imperial Majesty already knew the exact date, so instead of that detail, he continued with, "Satrap Governor Degtiar of Rho Ceta plans to attend, as does his consort, the _haut _Pel. Would you like me to pass them the information?"

"Only to the _haut_ Pel. I believe that you yourself should attend as well, _Ghem_-General. Lord Vorkosigan still has not corrected his cyro-seizures, I understand?"

"No, sir, he has not."

"Very well. you may pass on a message to him. Please give Lord Miles Vorkosigan my condolences on the death of his close friend Admiral Naismith." He paused, then said, "That is all."

"Yes, milord. I shall make the appropriate arrangements." Benin bowed again, and turned to go. As he was closing the door, Emperor the _haut_ Fletchir Giaja called out, "_Ghem_=General Benin?"

"Yes, milord?" Benin poked his head back through the doorframe.

"Don't forget to add that I trust the Admiral will not be resurrected again."

Benin smiled. "Yes sir." He backed up, closed the door, and went back to work on clearing his desk before going to Barrayar. This news certainly put some things in perspective.


	2. Moment from the Great Baby Campaign

_A/N: I don't own the universe, or the characters. This one is a fluffy MIles/Ekaterin, set post-DI. By the way, these are un-beta-ed, so if you see any typos, feel free to tell me in a you like it, more to follow!_

**Generals Vorkosigan on the Great Baby Campaign**

The first thing MIles saw when he woke up was Ekaterin's face, upside-down, and fixed in a concerned expression. But as soon as she saw that his eyes were open, the beautiful visage became disapproving and moved back, revealing the ceiling of Vorkosigan House's master bedroom. He felt her hands gently push his upper half from the floor, and he did his best to edge the rest of his body to lean against the wall. It was a harsh change from the comfort of Ekaterin's lap.

Ekaterin came into view again, bearing a glass of water. She settled gracefully onto the rug and wordlessly handed him the drink. Miles drained it gratefully, still dizzy.

"You know you're supposed to do those with somebody in attendance," Ekaterin began reprovingly. "Especially while you are still technically recovering from the Ceta bio-weapon. Why didn't you wait until Baby Aral was asleep?"

"Because then Helen would have woken up. You know how they tag-team." She looked at him sharply, not being distracted by the glimmer of humor. Miles kept trying though, or he wouldn't have been MIles. "What did you do with him anyway, if you came racing in here to tend poor, seizure-wracked me?"

Ekaterin still wasn't buying it. "I left him with his Gramama Cordelia, who is frankly better at lullabies than I am. Now really, why didn't you wait?"

Miles looked down sheepishly. "I didn't want to be a bother," he explained. "You should have more time with the babies, and NIkki, not looking after your ailing husband." He gestured to the seizure-inducing headgear still atop his temples.

Despite herself, Ekaterin's mood softened. "You're never a bother," she assured him. She thought about that a moment, and revised it with, "At least, not because of anything medical."

Miles smiled, and took one of her hands in his. "You know," he said softly, "waking up to see you is one of the best things in the world. You're an excellent nurse."

She put her other hand on top of his, and smiled back warmly. "Is that why you married me?" she asked jokingly. "Because I'm so good at holding down your legs?"

"Oh, no," he replied with mock seriousness. "You're far better at holding down my arms." They sat quietly for a moment, smiling sappily into each other's eyes. Then the peace was broken by a cry.

Ekaterin got up wearily, pushing MIles back down. "There goes Helen," she commented enduringly.

Miles grinned up at her. "I told you they tag-team." She glared at him fleetingly, before succumbing to a slight grin. He continued, "It's really a very viable strategy. They'll each never get tired, while our resources dwindle with each attack."

"Do you think of _everything_ in terms of military campaigns?" she demanded tartly.

He considered for a moment, then grinned. "Yes, I think so."

Ekaterin turned towards the door to conceal her smile. What an exasperating man. As she left the room, Miles called out behind her, "I'll stand by as reinforcements, then!"

"You will _sit_ by," she scolded over her shoulder. Miles gave a sharp salute from his station by the wall.

"Yes ma'am, General Lady Vorkosigan, ma'am!"

Once more, Ekaterin had to hide her smile as she hurried towards her daughter's room.


	3. Lord Auditor Vorkosigan's Parents

**Lord Auditor Vorkosigan's Parents**

It was only four in the afternoon when the shuttle landed in Sergyar's lone airport. But by the time Aral got home, it was nearly midnight. Cordelia was waiting up for him though, reading in bed. She put down the book as he came in, and they swapped summaries of their time apart as he changed into nightclothes.

Finally he was ready for sleep—well, he'd been _ready_ for sleep since about seven o'clock that evening—and they turned out the bedside lamps. But as he drifted off, Aral recalled one more tidbit he'd left out of his week's synopsis. Turning to Cordelia, he said, "Do you know, Dear Captain, the oddest thing happened to me at the Imperial Academy."

"Don't tell me," she replied drowsily. "They announced that living on an entirely different planet actually _does_ exempt you from giving that 'Serve Well, and You, Too, Can be an Admiral' speech that you do so well. Every year."

"No, nothing like that. Gregor thinks it really inspires them, so I'm doomed for the rest of my days. Instead, I chanced to hear a couple of students whispering as they passed into the lecture hall. One of them asked the other who was going to be speaking, and do you know what the second student said?"

"It wasn't 'Count Vorkosigan, Viceroy of Sergyar, boy he's so cool, I wish I had one of him in my Vor Bore trading card deck'?" Cordelia asked dryly.

"What are trading cards?" Aral asked, momentarily thrown off balance.

"Oh, just something children play with on Beta Colony." Curious against her better judgement, she added, "So what did the other student say?"

"He said, 'Don't you know, it's Lord Auditor Vorkosigan's father, the Count'!"

It was too dark to see her face, but Aral was sure Cordelia was giving him a patented 'Betan Therapist Smile'. "It's a very important step in a parent's life when they begin to be defined not by what they themselves have accomplished, but by the acts of their children," she informed him. "I'm sure everybody in the financial sector thinks of you as 'Lord Mark's father' by now."

"That's different," he grumbled. "I have no business in the financial sector. Imperial Academy students ought to be boning up on the Komarran and Escobaran campaigns, not to mention the Hegan Hub Crisis. That was all me."

"Actually, Miles was the one who saved Vervain from the Cetagandans," Cordelia pointed out neutrally. Aral suspected she was secretly enjoying this. Or maybe not so secretly.

"But nobody _knows_ about that, except the ten or so people with enough clearance to know about the Dendarii!"

"More like twenty people, once you include that audit-plot Simon foiled, and all the mercenaries who had to find out." She paused, then continued. "And any other intelligence systems who have figured it out. The Cetagandans have, of course, but we don't know about anyone else."

"It's still not fair," he responded sulkily, conscious of how immature it sounded.

Cordelia leaned over an pecked his forehead. "Speaking as someone who's spent the last thirty-two years know as 'Vorkosigan's wife', I can assure you that it really isn't that bad."

Aral smiled and responded, "You know, if MIles ever thought he had 'Great Man's Son Syndrome' badly—"

"He did," Cordelia interjected.

"Yes, he did," Aral conceded. "Well, if Miles thought he had it bad, poor Baby Aral is going to suffer even worse!"

"And Helen," she added. "Typical Barrayarran, thinking only of the male."

"Yes, Dear Captain," Aral said in his 'henpecked husband' voice. "And Helen Natalia, and any other children they have."

"I'm sure they'll all survive," she said drowsily. "And so will you."

"I suppose so," he replied, stifling a yawn. "The only thing to do is be such a good viceroy that everyone on Sergyar, at least, knows my name before his."

"For which you need sleep," Cordelia suggested.

"Indeed." Aral yawned again, this time so widely it almost hurt. "Good night, Dear Captain."

"Good night, Aral." Synchronized by years of practice, they both rolled over, and were asleep within ten minutes.

(*)

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_A/N: As before, I don't own it, and please report any typos._


	4. Conflicting Thoughts

_A/N: Gregor's head during Warrior's Apprentice. Thank you to AngusH for all the encouraging reviews. Sorry so long a break, but school started. Expect a small burst of Vorkosigan stuff when I read the new book. (CyroBurn, coming 10/19.) Read, Enjoy, and please review!_

}...{

**Conflicting Thoughts**

It wasn't that Gregor _wanted_ Miles to be guilty. Hell, his first thought when Vordrozda mentioned Vorlopoulos was to wonder if a bit a well-applied nepotism couldn't get Miles out of whatever he had gotten himself into. The agent was probably mistaken, anyway. How could Miles have acquired a mercenary fleet? It was utterly ridiculous.

And if these mercenaries really did exist, it wasn't as if Miles was paying for them. As if he could, what with the Vorkosigans not making a profit since before the Time of Isolation. By all accounts, Miles had more or less run away, and when he hit a blockade in some out of the way part of the galaxy, he had talked his way from the frying pan to the fire. _If_ any of it was actually happening, which was doubtful, then it was such a typically Milesian mess that Gregor almost felt he shouldn't be surprised.

But still there was a part of his brain that didn't believe this train of thought/ denial. It was the part of his brain the remembered how he knew Miles was trying his hardest at Tacti-Go whenever Gregor just barely beat him, and it wasn't because Gregor was a better strategist. Whenever Miles wasn't paying attention, he would utterly destroy anyone he played, unless it was his father. Miles was at his best when Gregor barely won because the hardest thing was not to let Gregor win, but to make it look like he had won by true brilliance. A sort of moral-booster, Gregor supposed.

Another memory the paranoid part of his brain conjured up was how, when they were younger, whenever Gregor played with Miles, Ivan, Elena, and sometimes the Koudelka girls, they always did what Miles wanted to do. Sure it was partly because he got so bloody depressed whenever they did something physical that Miles couldn't join. But when they all decided to be soldiers, Gregor had been doing maneuvers with the rest of them while Miles sat by the wall and called out commands.

This part of Gregor's brain grew somehow, each time he talked with Lord Vordrozda and Admiral Hessman. It grew and grew, and before he knew it, Simon was arrested and Miles was being charged with attempted usurpation.

All too soon, the day of the Council's vote arrived. Part of Gregor, a part he suspected was centered on his heart, kept calling it all a huge mistake. The largest piece insisted that it was horrible but perfectly logical, and that an emperor needed to be forceful sometimes if he expected to keep his throne secure. A hitherto unnoticed section even spoke up, sounding disturbingly like Lady Vorkosigan, and cooly pointed out that this was all just his late-teenage need for independence asserting itself as a mad impulse to rebel against all things related to his father figure.

This was the state of Gregor's head on the day of the vote. There seemed no hope for the absent defendant, especially when Vordrozda assured Gregor that he had been working tirelessly on the emperor's behalf.

Then Miles walked in, with a classically Miles semi-witty comment and a counter-accusation worthy of, well, Count Vorkosigan. Vordrozda pulled a needler, and Gregor, who had been torn between dismay and relief, settled on terror as the gun swung from him to Miles. Then Ivan (and half the Council) tackled Vordrozda, and the complications _really_ started.


	5. Man of Mystery

Man of Mystery

_This one's a keeper_ Ivan thought happily, staring at his latest girlfriend out of the corner of his eye. She was almost a perfect example of Vorish beauty, with long auburn hair, a willowy figure, and legs that Ivan was seriously considering adding to his Top Ten List of Most Touchable Female Legs. _If I can keep her away from mother, I'll bet she can last at least another two weeks. _

There was only one problem with Lady Voraltar—she was consistently unimpressed by what Ivan considered to be an exemplary Service Record. The only military-related topic the girl seemed at all interested in was Security. The questioned she peppered him with about _that_ had seemed endless at first: What sort of security did Ivan have, being so closely related to the Emperor? _(Not much.)_ Had he ever met Captain Illyan? _(Unfortunately, thanks to Miles.)_ Had he ever been on a secret mission? _(Kind of, if you counted that thing with Miles and the mercenaries when he was 18.)_ Okay, so that last one had given him a chance to finally be able to say "I'm sorry, but that's classified". But Ivan was definitely starting to regret not cultivating a 'man of mystery' persona. It seemed to be all the rage, these days. _No time like the present_, he supposed.

"You know," he began slyly, "I do have close contact with an extremely covert ops guy. Sometimes, when he needs something special done, I'm the first man he comes to for help."

"Really?" Lady Voraltar looked at him intently. "What sort of 'special thing?" She scooted slightly closer, until their thighs were almost touching.

"Oh, you know, really sneaky stuff," Ivan responded, carefully maintaining a casual air. "A few rescue missions, some exploration of unknown territory... Nothing much" Never mind that Ivan always seemed to be the one MIles was rescuing. And surely the bottom of various wine bottle counted as unknown territory?

"My, that sounds terribly dangerous." said Lady Voraltar. (Anna, her name was Anna, he needed to remember that.) She put her hand gently on his leg. "You must have been very brave."

By God, it was working! Ivan took her hand in his. "It wasn't that bad, Anna," he assured, pitching his voice just so, to imply that it had been horrible, but he had been both valorous and victorious. "A Vor must do his duty, after all." She simpered at him, and he barely muffled a grin of delight, turning it into a handsome-yet-vulnerable smile. Maybe Miles wasn't so bad after all...


	6. A Vow Not Broken

_A/n: Gosh, I don't even own the dialogue on this one. I just wanted to write Gregor's thoughts from the scen ein Barrayar, and before I knew it, I had not a deeply-impressioned shy youngster but a tough and rebellious toddler. Read, enjoy, and review!_

-{+}-

**A Vow not Broken**

Gregor and Steggie were planning the conquest of Planet Omega when the grown-ups came into the playroom. At first he didn't look up, because he had to convince Steggie that a full frontal assault was clearly a superior tactic to a sneak attack. But then Mama sat him up and made him turn Steggie off, so he had to pay attention.

Captain Negri was leading the group, so Gregor put on his formal face. Droushie was behind him, and Gregor wanted to say hi, but knew that he shouldn't until he had met the other people. He also recognized the man with the special computer chip in his brain, which helped him remember everything anybody ever did. He worked for Negri. What was his name? Captain Illyan, right. Next to Captain Illyan was somebody Gregor didn't know, but was recognizable as a lieutenant, from his red tabs. He walked funny.

There was a brand-new lady in the group too, wearing a tan dress. She was introduced as Lady Vorkosigan, which was weird, because she didn't even look like she was from Barrayar. Was she a mutie? Her hair was very red, and everyone Gregor knew had brown hair. Or Black. Or gray. Or even white, like Grandpa. Not that bright almost orange color, for sure. Gregor wondered why the Red-Hair Lady (Lady Vorkosigan, he corrected himself) looked so worried. She looked like a nice person, especially when she smiled at him. It wasn't fair that nice people be worried, he reflected. Steggie agreed, and suggested that Gregor figure out how to make her smile again. Maybe if he gave her a creamcake...?

Then the fourth man in the group knelt in front of Gregor. He looked very familiar; Gregor had seen him in the Residence before, talking with Negri and Grandpa. "Do you know who I am, Prince Gregor?" he asked. The man seemed like he was trying to sound kind and unthreatening, but he couldn't hide a commanding air that reminded Gregor of Grandpa. Intimidated, he moved a little bit closer to Mama for support. She nodded at him reassuringly.

"Lord Aral Vorkosigan," Gregor said faintly.

Lord Vorkosigan unclenched his hands and made his voice quieter, but no less clear. "Your grandfather has asked me to be your Regent. Has anybody explained to you what that means?"

Regent meant assistant commander, right? But that was Steggie's job. Maybe it was a new sort of babysitter? Confused, Gregor shook his head no. Lord Vorkosigan wiggled his eyebrow at Captain Negri, who looked back silently.

"That means I will do your grandfather's job until you are old enough to do it yourself, when you turn twenty," Lord Vorkosigan explained. "The next sixteen years." That sounded ridiculous to Gregor. How could anybody do something for sixteen whole years? It was so hard to pay attention to any one thing for more than a few minutes! Well, he supposed that was why he, Gregor, would have to take over being Emperor, when Lord Vorkosigan got tired.

"I will look after you and your mother in your grandfather's place," Lord Vorkosigan continued, "And see that you get the education and training to do a good job, like you grandfather did. Good government." Dimly, Gregor noticed that Lord Vorkosigan never mentioned Papa. Shouldn't he have? No, Papa never got his turn to be Emperor, because he had died in honorable battle at Escobar. Gregor wasn't quite sure why he wasn't more sad about that, though it was probably because Papa was so rarely home. The funeral must have been very sad, he reasoned, because Mama had been much happier when it was over.

"For now," added Lord Vorkosigan, "your job is to study hard with your tutors and do what your mother tells you. Can you do that?"

Of course Gregor could do that! Unless Mama told him to do something really silly, like go to bed at only 19:30 hours. The studying might prove more of a challenge, because his tutors usually wanted him to sit still for _hours_. But it was Impolite to complain to guest, Droushie said. So Gregor swallowed his protest and nodded firmly.

Lord Vorkosigan nodded back. I think you can do well," he responded, standing up. Gregor remained silent next to his Mama. But in his head, he swore to by his word as Vorbarra that he would show everyone how well he could do. And he would make Lady Vorkosigan smile again. That one could come first.


	7. More PostCyroBurn Drabbles

**More Post-CyroBurn Drabbles**

_A/N: SPOILERS GALORE! I just feel like LMB left out a few characters. I don't own them, alas._

-{+}-

**ELENA:**

Elena Bothari-Jesek was going over the latest reports from Accounting when her comconsole chimed. Eagerly, she swiveled her chair to answer it. She should really get the reports done, and not waste this brief quiet time when the kids were in school, but... anything was better than docking fees.

Elena clicked open the link to find a simple written message. She recognized Miles' crabbed handwriting, and her curiosity increased. Why so short a letter? Normally Miles sent endless reports of his perfect Vor life. This time, the missive was a single sentence:

Elena:

Please come.

—Count Vorkosigan

Elena opened another window and looked for the next ship headed to Komarr.

-{+}-

**ALYS:**

Alys didn't think she could stand it anymore. Everybody kept thanking her, saying she was their last hope for sanity. Couldn't they see that this was the only thing she knew to do? Didn't they understand that if all the ceremony was correct, then everything would be normal and nothing would have changed? That if she let herself think about something other than perfect seating arrangements and guest lists, she would burst into tears? Then Gregor insisted that he not be a Chief Mourner, as was custom, but a bier-carrier. And all that perfection was ruined. So Alys finally took a moment to cry.

-{+}-

**SIMON:**

Simon wasn't sure whether to be glad or not that it hadn't been some sort of security breach. It was good to know that the system worked, even if he was retired now. God knew Allegre was thanking heaven it hadn't been lax security. But it would have been so nice to have someone to blame—some subordinate's career to ruin, an assassin to hunt down and rip to shreds...

The solution was simple: just add anti-aneurysm courses to the ImpSec training regiment.

Dimly, Simon knew he was being illogical. Clearly, the rest of his brain didn't care.


	8. Greater than the Last

Greater Than the Last

_A/N:All the previous drabbles have taken place somewhere between __Warrior's Apprentice__ and __CyroBurn__, but this one is distinctly post-__CyroBurn.__ As always, I don't own any of the characters, universe, etc. _

Helen was always jealous of her brother. Not because he was a boy, and went to the Academy and all—that was what everyone expected, but she never thought about it. No, Helen was jealous because Aral never seemed to be affected by what she privately thought of as Vorkosigan Surpassion Syndrome.

She liked to think of VSS as genetic, though it was clearly nurture over nature. VSS was the tendency of each successive Lord Vorkosigan to do more, be greater, than the previous Count-his-father. She suspected it had started with the unknown Count Piotr, her great-grandfather. Grandda Aral certainly had it, as did Helen's own Da. But Aral her twin seemed singularly unaffected. He just went through life, doing whatever was expected of him. A year on Beta and three in the Imperial Academy, rising to Captain in his third year of service, being Da's Voice in the District from the age of fifteen...he was so damn dependable, it made Helen want to scream.

Instead, she went on with her life as if she was the same way. But when Helen spent her year on Beta with Greatgranma Lizzie, she wondered whether she should stay, become a diplomat of some sort. She could avert wars and form favorable trade agreements! But it simply wasn't very interesting, so she visited Uncle Mark and the Durona Group on Escobar. Maybe she could go into science, or maybe just economics. She could earn money! Find a real cure for old age! Helen even considered being jealous of Aral for his military achievements, and convinced her Da to let her intern with Admiral Quinn for a summer. But she soon decided that was best left to Taurie, who took the Fleet by storm at the ripe age of eleven. So Helen gave up on dreams of being a rebellious female soldier.

Eventually, she went back home to University and threw herself into classes, directing her ambition towards academics, and a professorship. In her spare time, she played the socialite, though Lizzie was always more graceful on the dance floor. Before she knew it, Helen had double-majored in Anthropology and Public Relations. A few months later, she was a T.A. at the Hassadar University, and doing freelance consulting on the side. It was a good life, mainly independent, with visits home every break.

It was her second summer home from work that Helen saw Aral at the ball. Not Dependable Alex, Cousin Aral. Prince Aral, the Emperor's Heir.

It was irritatingly like a fairy tale. Between her University work and his Service, she hadn't seen him in years. But as Helen entered the room, their eyes met. Small talk, a dance or two...perfectly normal and polite. She went home that night, admittedly late, thinking nothing of it. At least, that's what she told herself.

Prince Aral called at Vorkosigan House the next afternoon. He chatted with everyone, for everyone was home for once, but she couldn't help but notice his gaze lingering upon her face. Nor could he stop returning the glance.

He kept calling, and soon began inviting her to events. She tried to concentrate on her studies, told herself she only wanted to be a professor. She went to most of the events, and chatted amicably with what felt like every Vor Bore in Vorbarr Sultana. Once in a while, they even listened to her. Aral always listened, and argued. They wrote a couple mock speeches together, practice for her Verbal Media class. She was surprised to hear him use some of her phrases when he addressed the populace on the newest advances on Sergyar. He proposed three weeks later.

It was a fine match politically, if a bit close to home, but it didn't matter, because they were so clearly in love. Even the agonizingly extensive wedding preparations were as flawless as it was possible to be. They snuck away after the reception and flew to Vorkosigan Surleau, home of many happy childhood memories for both newlyweds.

As Princess Helen drifted to sleep in Aral's arms, contented thoughts bubbling muzzily to the surface, she couldn't help but note that surely though she had certainly succumbed to VSS, its continuation would shortly be ended. No Vorkosigan had ever been Empress before, but with her son, and his, and all her descendants, _nobody_ could rise higher than Emperor.


End file.
